


stardust ;; finn

by kiedisdameron (buckyrogers)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyrogers/pseuds/kiedisdameron
Summary: A troubled night is transformed into a stargazing night by a gentle (?) former stormtrooper.
Relationships: Finn/Reader
Kudos: 3





	stardust ;; finn

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first attempt to write for Star Wars. It’s also my first attempt to write a gender neutral character! I actually don’t know how I feel about this writing. Also, keep in mind that English is not my first language! I’m sorry for any mistakes. There are mentions of character death! Also, the reader deals with PTSD and there is a detailed description of a panic attack. If anyone is sensitive to any of these subjects, please, do not read this!

The faint blue light emanating from the digital clock glued to your fingers merged with the bluish atmosphere of your dimly lit surroundings. 03:58:09. Cream metallic walls – illuminated by yellow, orange and pink shades radiating from from both stars, Callium and Sunirta, feeding the Outer Rim planet – transformed into pale blue metallic walls, which drained your cells from the ounce of hope nurturing them. Well, maybe the **_imminent_** mission drained your cells from the ounce of hope nurturing them. But you would **_not_** admit the fear creeping up your bones, crawling around your viscera, feeding itself from your organism existed. No.

03:58:47. What would Commander Poe Dameron say? **_Coward._** Right? **_Shame._** No? **_Weak._** The fearless pilots had been chosen to accompany the Black Leader to Anoat, a nearly inhospitable planet dominated by the Galactic Empire in its rise to power a few decades prior. After the Resistance successful assault on Starkiller Base, a suspicious informant managed to locate the Resistance headquarters in D’Qar to reveal the existence of another First Order superweapon buried inside Anoat.

General Organa faced a dilemma. The suspicious informant may have aimed to sow the Resistance with a vicious trap. Had the First Order set the planet as bait to lure major Resistance forces? Anoat had not been thrown into oblivion by Leia Organa’s mind; remains of the evilness cultivated by the Galactic Empire eerily fluctuated through her sleep-deprived, foggy mind. Would the First Order, blinded by its resemblance to the Galactic Empire, follow its predecessor’s path? Such as occupying planets once destroyed by evil only to **_shatter_** them to splinters? No, **_right_**?

Yet, General Organa could **_not_** allow another mass extinction. Endless meetings with General Cypress, Major Brance, Major Ematt, Admiral Statura, Admiral Ackbar, Commander Dameron and Commander Versio culminated in a three-month preparation to an elaborated mission. The Inferno Squad had been assigned to explore abysmal Outer Rim planets, spying on the informant’s route across the galaxies while the Red and Blue Squadrons had battened down the hatches to explore Anoat, which included selecting **_you_** as a distinguished pilot.

The digital clock glued to your fingers beeped loudly. 04:00:02. “Maker…” You wholly wished Finn’s snores were yours. Shifting around – dull grey sheet rustling underneath your body –, your transfixed, sleep-deprived gaze unwillingly focused on the empty bunker bed across the minuscule bedroom. Damn. Not **_again_**. Tears welled up in your eyes. A month ago, Tori Joan and Gyutt Honter occupied the bunker bed, sharing the space with you.

The hopeful spark eagerly burning inside your system, the anxiety in contributing to the **_mighty_** Resistance, the immaculate idea of fighting for your strongest beliefs vanished as soon as you had set your innocent feet on D’Qar, accompanying Commander Torvi. She had been in a recognition mission beyond the Outer Rim planets to secure possible future locations for the Resistance headquarters when her computer board identified an innocent drifting starship, **_your_** – well, stolen – starship.

Chaos itself imposed its reign over the Resistance’s headquarters: bloody pilots were being hurriedly carried on moss green stretchers, splinters of glass and metallic material littered the grey stony ground, faint cries and desperate hugs ignited your senses. Commander Torvi clutched a shabby metallic helmet against her waist, bleakly gazing around the blustery landing areas and bypassing crestfallen uniformed men and women – gazing, appalled, into an invisible void – besieged with brisk requests to give a firsthand report about the failed mission. A plethora of semi-destroyed starfighters cluttered the landing areas around which droids higgedly-piggledy beeped.

“What did you expect the Resistance to be, kid?” Commander Torvi churlishly questioned among the din of starfighters engines running.

“Exactly this scenario, Commander.”

 ** _Lie_**.

“Well, Death’s your friend from the moment your feet cross the landing areas,” Commander Torvi’s words bore an ominous tone.

04:04:57. Death’s spectrum hovered overhead in its relentless plan to befriend you from the moment your feet indeed crossed the landing areas and despair suffocated your agitated lungs. A choked cry escaped from your dry lips. **_Occupy_**. Well, you occupied a bunker bed either, a temporary possession. Your faith depended on Commander Dameron’s abilities as a pilot **_and_** a leader, right?

Finn incoherently mumbled in between snores, obliging your senses to emerge from the immaterial reality inside your skull in which you had been drowning. Nevertheless, the stormy surface of material reality allowed you a listless gasp for air before its watery callous fingers fiercely wrapped around your throat, yanking you back to immateriality as insane as Alice’s Wonderland. A strangled sob managed to echo around the minuscule bedroom causing Finn’s snores to stop momentarily, however it was not **_desperate_** enough for him to abandon the state of drowsiness.

“Red Leader, this is Red Four! I see more TIEs approaching!” Gyutt voice laden with apprehension uttered directly inside your skull. Your fingers violently squeezed the digital clock, its metallic material pressing against your left palm. As of your right palm, the lack of physical contact obliged it to briskly clasp the sheet wrinkled underneath your body. The action merged your uneasy mind into a pendulum, oscillating between reality and painful remembrance.

“Red Four, this is Red Two! I need cover!” Tori’s daring voice overlapped Gyutt’s warning. A succession of flashes, ear-piercing hollers vibrating through the communication system and dazzling explosions overwhelmed your senses. “Red Two, this is Red Four! Do you hear me?”

Silence. 04:07:46. Your features contorted into utter desperation: eyebrows strangely frowned, eyelids heavily closed, lips parted in a silent scream, which transformed itself into a ragged cry. Your body writhed in agony against the mattress so intense your whitish knuckles crackled the digital clock crystal. The deformed faint blue light emanating from it mirrored your maimed essence.

“Red Two, this is Red Four! Do you hear me? I repeat, do you hear me?”

You sobbed against your pillow; nose painfully crushed against its soft material. “Tori! **_No,_** **_no!_** ” Caught in a landslide, there was no escape from the painful remembrance which insisted on **_repeatedly_** rewind itself. Were you truly a distinguished pilot? If Commander Dameron had known Weakness disguised itself as you, would he have chosen you to compose the Blue Squadron?

“Red Two, this is Red Leader. Over.”

Silence. 04:10:38. Death’s spectrum revolved in thrilling excitement among stars and galaxies. “No!” Cold sweat soaked your torso, muscles contracted in torture, tears – and saliva – moistened the dull grey pillowcase. “No!” The deafening war happening inside of your drowning skull evidently contrasted with the silent combat against the First Order amongst the almost perfect spatial vacuum. Its void engulfed the rage spat by your T-85 X-Wing cannons at **_any_** visible TIEs, fiercely engaging ship-to-ship combat.

“Hey! Hey, listen to me, please!” Slender fingers poked your sweat drenched torso in a clumsy attempt to tranquilize your disturbed self. A float had been thrown on the surface between immaterial and material reality to rescue you. “Stop, stop. It’s Finn. Finn, the new roommate. I ain’t going to hurt you. Listen to me. This is the Resistance headquarters, not a X-Wing.”

“Tori died! TIEs exploded Gyutt’s X-Wing into splinters during the Resistance retreat!” Body convulsing in rage, the words clawed at your throat. Droplets of saliva slipped past moistened lips to land on the sweat-saliva-tear tainted pillowcase. The wrecked digital clock had been forgotten on the edge of the mattress by your left palm. Both of your palms clasped the pillow on which a warped feature had been imprinted, violently tossing it across the minuscule dormitory towards the empty bunker bed. “They’re dead! **_Dead!_** ”

The immaterial reality restless stream flowing underwater threatened to drown the ounce of sanity bore inside your bones. “Do not touch me! Do not touch me!” Scrambling through the bunker bed – sheet accompanying your limbs –, bare feet kicked Finn’s attempts to drag you from underwater and thwacked against the whitish floor. Finn forcefully pinned you against the nearest wall. Thrashing against his touch, your careworn features signalled defeat to immaterial reality.

“No, no. Open your eyes.” Finn tried to chivvy you into clasping the float, carting you off to his bunker bed. “Look at me. Look at me.” His dark eyes desperately capered through your features when your body clumsily thudded against the mattress. Finn’s hands clasping at your face ebbed the insanity crawling around your viscera.

“They’re dead, Finn…” You hopelessly sobbed, trembling fingers shyly wrapping around Finn’s wrists. His touch ignited a downpour of tears in you, which prompted Finn to shyly, but hurriedly, hug you, pulling you to his heaving chest – agonizing to watch you fall apart before his eyes. Well, no solid relationship had been built between both when you had such busy daily routines, however that would not prevent him for sympathizing with you. The stormtrooper essence stuffed inside him brought unpleasant memories, you had just not seen those memories materialize in bursts of insanity **_yet_**.

“I understand,” he whispered against your hair, slender fingers tangling themselves in strands of your hair. He warily caressed your scalp, apprehension burning inside his veins about trespassing the invisible line separating genuinely caring and fake proximity. “I understand this is not pleasant. I understand this is not what the Resistance promises. I understand it destroys every ounce of hope and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you mumbled against the fabric of his pyjama, momentarily careful not to stain his mustard yellow shirt. “I’m sorry that we had to properly meet in this situation.”

“Hey, it’s been twelve days since we’re roommates! We’ve already properly met by complimenting each other once a day, don’t worry.” Finn attempted to detoxify your body from the negative energy, to ease your mind from the painful remembrance with an ounce of humour. Though your bitten lips did not purse in a smile, his attempt did not go unnoticed.

04:23:43. Your hands gripped his mustard yellow shirt, pulling at the fabric when strangled sobs and silent cries managed to escape from your lips. Even though Finn’s muscles burned in pain from staying in such an uncomfortable position, he obliged them to resist, noticing the decrease in your breathing frequency and the softening in your desperate features weirdly comfortable in that mixture of bodies.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

Finn spontaneously laughed. “Well, I’m trying my best to build a roommate relationship in seconds. I deserve credits for it.”

“What do you mean? Credits do not imply trust. How am I supposed to promptly trust a stormtrooper?”

“Hm,” Finn nervously mumbled at the words. Were you serious? “I guess that’s a relevant point.”

“It surely is. I’m waiting for stormtroopers to barge in.” Your fingers pulled at his pyjama shirt, tightening your embrace around Finn’s torso. Your eyes blankly gazed at the empty bunker bed across the minuscule bedroom as your exhausted mind seemed to wander around material reality, which promised a comfortable rest.

“Well, alright… At any time…”

“Commander Dameron constantly stares at you. Is it trust?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Well, if Commander Dameron trusts you, I trust you. How could I not trust you?”

“Should I know the answer?” Finn uncomfortably shifted, confused eyes darting to you. It seemed a few remaining tears carved their way through your skin, losing themselves between your lips. The salty taste did not evoke any reaction from you, who sustained your gaze upon the bunker bed. “Would you accompany me?”

“To where?”

“Come with me,” Finn carefully detached you from his torso, the mustard yellow shirt dishevelled after your fingers abandoned the fabric.

Finn’s muscles groaned in pain as he pulled his exhausted body up from the uncomfortable position he had been locked in, offering his hand to you. You stubbornly dismissed Finn’s gesture, staggering towards the silent corridor gripping the pale blue metallic walls. Its coldness roamed your fingers, transforming itself into an uncomfortable shiver. The bedroom door automatically ghosted open, revealing the ablaze corridor. Finn motioned for you to follow him through the silence.

Bare feet travelled around underground corridors. 04:39:58. Muffled voices eerily fluctuated through the air as both approached the stony command center. Listening to Commander Dameron’s stubborn tone in heated discussion seemed as though an electric discharge crossed your body, who suddenly cowered against the metallic wall. “Finn, are we crossing the command center?”

“Well, the faster route includes crossing it,” Finn insisted, hands motioned at the underground Nature carved space.

“ ** _Maker_** , where are we going?” You aggressively whispered, eyes darting to the dimly lit stony structure beyond. “I can’t. Commander Dameron is there!”

“So?”

“I’m a **_failure_**!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not joining the Blue Squadron anymore.”

“Were you dismissed from it?”

“Yes!” You lied.

“By Poe?”

“Yes!” Again. “I’m a failure!”

“Are you telling me you were **_dismissed_** from a squadron?” Finn’s eyebrows frowned in indignation. “Poe selected the Resistance’s best pilots! How are you suddenly dismissed?”

“Why? Was the First Order better at selecting stormtroopers?”

“Well, maybe!” Finn’s retort echoed around the corridor, to which you winced, nervously staring at the abrupt fusion between the metallic corridor and the stony command center. “Failures did not exist, because they were–”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up, stormtrooper!”

Silence. 04:47:47. You hurriedly retreated to the closest corner. A silent laugh escaped from Finn’s lips as he slowly stepped back to where you uneasily hid. “There are cameras everywhere. **_Commander Dameron_** ,” Finn mocked, “might be watching the footage exactly now. Follow me, please.”

Finn guided you through an extensive path across similar metallic corridors. No longer did wandering bare feet bug you. In fact, the omnipresent metallic sensation against an ounce of your skin recovered your missing sanity pieces. An abandoned engine half-blocked the entrance to the maintenance level. Destroyed bombers, interceptors and gunships littered the area around maintenance equipment.

A rusted motionless droid softly hummed to itself. You apprehensively approached it, several scattered tools had been forgotten beside an Y-Wing. The droid rested on a moss green cabinet. Its third lower drawer had disappeared, its paint peeled off, revealing a rusted frame. You squatted on the tool littered ground, cautiously approaching the talkative droid.

“Hello?” You mumbled towards the droid. It gladly ignored your attempt in communicating with it, humming incessantly. “Alright, rude droid…”

“What?” Finn’s question echoed through the vast maintenance level.

“Unhinged droids humming to themselves,” You answered, clasping the square robot.

Finn unabashedly guffawed at you. “It’s not a droid, but a device for listening to **_music_**.”

“Music?”

“Yes… Rhythmic voicing accompanied by non-verbal sounds.” Finn pulled the device from your hands, fingers eagerly wandering through its buttons searching for different stations. “Come on.”

“Well, is **_music_** a universal concept?”

“Apparently, no.”

Opposite to the maintenance level entrance, a stony column bore an inlaid compact elevator. The humming droid sizzled until its metallic doors opened to the hangars. Neatly parked starfighters occupied parking spaces. 04:59:08. Uniformed men and women fuelled ships while droids promptly beeped in excitement. Finn reached the blustery landing areas. Whitish lightning discreetly illuminated the open-aired areas. The dense foliage scent overwhelmed you, who closed your eyes. Life blossomed inside your organism, cells excitedly gasping at its freshness. Your lips unconsciously pursed in a smile.

Finn shyly approached you, trapping the square robot under his left arm. “Please, do **_not_** open your eyes.” Hesitantly, his hands lightly wrapped around your forearms. “Do you trust me?”

“No, stormtrooper,” You laughed.

Unexpectedly, earth slipped between your bare feet fingers, foliage delicately embraced your sleep-deprived limbs. “Excuse me,” Finn uttered, “lay down, please.”

Softness embraced you, earth sticked to your pyjama. Your surroundings swarmed with insects. The square robot had been placed between you and Finn, its humming travelling to your right ear. An adorable **_music_** fluctuated through the air. “Now, Tori and Gyutt are here.”

“What?” You desperately asked, fingers clasping at your own forearms. Your lungs momentarily collapsed at Finn’s unexpected words. “Where?”

“ ** _Everywhere._** ” Finn answered.

You opened your eyes – shooting Finn a hesitant gaze –, feet nervously digging holes, revolving earth, in an attempt to process your surroundings. The wind blew silently, digging its way through leaves, branches and trunks. A chink of starry sky was visible between the leaves; it was the navy-blue of the ocean, and everything was quiet except for a bird peeping lowly in the distance. 05:04:23. “Finn?”

“Do you see them?”

Silence. The leaves fumbled quietly; its buzz merged with the **_music_**. Earth seemed to lovingly embrace your organism, as though heartily welcoming a beloved friend. Your features softened, blazing with realization. Your fingers nervously grasped at the shirt fabric, pulling at it in a failed attempt to swallow a sob. Glossy eyes, brimmed with tears, focused on the navy-blue starry sky.

“Stardust. They’re stardust,” Finn whispered.

05:07:09.

“Thank you, stormtrooper.”

“I’m not a stormtrooper.”

“I’m not a failure.”


End file.
